


It's a Deal (oneshot)

by dunebug (jostlespack)



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Arcadia Bay (Life is Strange), Gen, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Two Whales Diner (Life is Strange)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29582763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jostlespack/pseuds/dunebug
Summary: Chloe Price has an opening to strike a deal and clear her debt with Frank. She just has to meet him at the Two Whales. Turns out Frank had something else in mind.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	It's a Deal (oneshot)

_Okay. Okay-okay-okay._

_Last chance, Price. You bail, or try any of your shit, and you're history. Frank may be a good guy but he knows when the rain turns to piss. He_ **_will_ ** _get nasty._

She'd been hiding out in the bathroom stalls of the Two Whales for way too long. But damn, she couldn't deny those nerves. Frank and Chloe went way back, but even still, he was willing to settle it once and for all. And that was an offer she couldn't turn down.

The magic marker squeaked against the side of her boot as she etched her handiwork into the rubber. 

_An… Eagle? Sure. A bald… homeless… angry… Eagle… in debt. Huh._

_Surely all birds are technically homeless._

_Unless the sky is their home... Or maybe they don't need a place to call home, maybe their home is wherever they can fill their purpose._

_..._

_What am I doing? Get out there, MacGyver! Your dopey ass is riding on this deal. Don't fuck it up._

_Just._

_Go!_

She bust open the stall door, checking her hair in the mirror on her way out. 

_What's cookin', good lookin'?_

Out in the diner the same jerky music played overhead, some looney-tunes band and their idea of jazz.

_Mom never fails to absolutely destroy good music. But it's homey, at least. Something totally stupid that Dad would listen to, and Mom would smite all to hell!_

Peering around the diner, there was no sign of Frank. His RV wasn't parked outside either. Weird. When Frank was serious about something, he always showed.

"You looking for something, Ms Price?" A raspy voice croaked from the bar. One of the regulars at the Two Whales. 

"Someone. But I'll be damned if that ever works out for me, eh Randy?" Chloe replied, arms folding across her front. 

"You an' me both. Anything I can help you out with?" Randy asked, scratching at his juvenile mutton chops.

"Nothing that could save my ass this time, duder. But holler if you see an RV pull up outside."

"Oh, you mean Frank?" Randy raised an eyebrow. "What business do you have with Frank Bowers? Is he messin' with you, Chloe Price?" 

"It's nothing I can't handle, Randy. Catch you later," Chloe brought the conversation to a definitive end. 

"You watch yourself, Ms Price," Randy called after her. 

_Way to go, genius. Now that's the last thing I need, extra attention. Quit chatting up the locals._

_Where the fuck is Frank?_

Her pocket buzzed against her thigh and not an entity on earth could've matched the speed of her response. She had to squint through the sun glare to see the message:

_" Price. Where are you? No fucking games."_

_Uhhh?_

She tapped at the tape barely disguising a web of cracked glass…

_" Where are YOU? I'm right here."_

_" Check the booths."_

_" k "_

Chloe huffed, shoving her phone back into her pocket. 

She paced through the diner, what did Frank even mean? He _wasn't_ there. 

_Unless... Tiny frank._

There was no one in the booths except the regular depressives staring into their coffee and some Blackwell droids squabbling over season tickets. The bar only sat a couple of cops and some truckers, but that was typical of a Wednesday morning.

She scoped the booths one more time, as if they weren't completely frank-less.

_Wait._

_No._

_No fucking way._

Hidden in the booth at the far corner sat a familiar fidgety figure. 

Cast like a stilled image in the morning sun, the silhouette of… 

_Nathan fucking Prescott._

_He didn't mean… Did he?_

Chloe was apprehensive but approached the booth. 

She hadn't seen the prick since… Well. It had been a while. But it seemed that he'd broken off his Prescott training wheels all on his own, sporting a poncy red jacket that alone could probably buy Chloe back into Blackwell. As if.

_I guess it's out with the sweaters, in with the elite._

_"_ There you are!" Nathan spoke as if she'd overcharged him for gas, "holy shit, I thought I was going to shoot myself waiting for you to show up".

"You're not Frank" Chloe furrowed her brows. 

"And you're not Dionysus with the golden fucking touch. But here we are. Looks like we're both up shit creek."

Chloe couldn't comprehend what was happening, she just gawked at the kid.

"Cut it out, that shit is way creepy. What, Frank didn't tell you?" 

Chloe sat opposite Nathan, guard way the fuck up. 

"Why send you?" She monotoned. 

"Listen, you owe Frank?" He asked. Chloe replied with a silent nod. "Well hey, I owe Frank too. A lot. So Frank thought he'd be a sweetheart and cut us a deal, got it?" 

It was odd, Nathan voiced a confidence that fit the jacket, but Chloe could still see the trembling freshman behind it all. The senseless bravado. It was familiar.

"What's the deal, then?" She asked, "if anyone from Blackwell is involved you better let me in on it now, comprende?"

"Hold your horses, Price. We're not killing anybody!" 

"My last deal with Frank didn't fly so smooth, okay. I'm not gonna apologise for being cautious." Chloe retreated into her folded arms, she didn't like to think about it. The Norths or any of that shit.

"We're not here to play nice, we're here to clear some debt. Simple as. Got it?" Nathan looked her directly in the eye, the cold blue appeared striking against his darkened circles, caught in the morning light from the window. They burned straight through her, like ice-cold lasers. Chloe shifted in her seat, it wasn't right. 

The clunk of steel on wood broke her train of thought, Chloe's eyes darted to the table's surface.

_Fuck._

"What are you, fucking psycho!?" She tried her best hushed yell. 

"It's not loaded, dumbass."

"You have any idea how much worse shit could get if someone sees you with a gun?"

"They can't do shit. It's filed. See?" Nathan brandished the piece to show the jagged graze along the barrel. 

"I thought you said we weren't killing anybody?" She scowled. 

"We're not. I bought it for Frank, okay. I don't go around waving guns like some trigger-happy maniac. That's not me."

Chloe's focus shifted from the gun to the pair of cops at the bar, "there are fucking cops in here, dude." 

"Those pigs can't do shit either. And they know that." 

"Some sorta Blackwell privilege?"

"Call it Prescott rules," Nathan sighed.

Chloe eyeballed the gun. 

"Just- just put it away. It's a fucking liability." 

"Suit yourself" Nathan tucked the piece back into his jeans.

"Frank figured you'd fit the job, what with your 'history together'. His words, not mine."

"So what the hell is it? What's it worth to clear the fucking debt?" Chloe narrowed her eyes at the Prescott.

"Okay. Some asshole is giving Frank second-hand bullshit. He says it's for a friend of his, some serious chick. Now, I've got the address. We sneak in, we plant the piece, and we leave." 

"That's it?" Chloe asked. 

"That's it. Then you and me, home free. We wash our hands of this shit and we don't speak of it again. Think about it, Price."

Chloe needed to think for a moment, Nathan diverted his gaze to glance causally around the diner, sitting back with a can of pop. 

  
  


_Fuck. Fuck, okay. Think, Price._

_No theft, no violence, no drugs involved whatsoever._

_It's just - leaving something behind. No one ever got arrested for leaving something where it wasn't before. Its like... It's like fair game. Sorta._

_And it's unmarked, untraceable._

_Besides, maybe I can blag some of that Prescott insurance if things get hairy._

_But, I can't ignore the risks._

_There's no telling how shit could escalate if we got busted. And with Nathan? Well, who knows. That kid has mad power, but I don't know the creep. He could be uber fucked up. Or better yet, this could be some sorta twisted plan to fuck me over. Hell, I wouldn't blame Frank for taking the bribe to drag my sorry ass here._

_Can I trust Frank's judgement? Shit, I trust Frank. I really do._

_All of that debt, gone. No more hunting for dead-end jobs._

_No more leeching off of my Mother for drugs. No more scraping the barrel to print those damn fliers._

_No more stolen booze... well._

_Is it worth it?_

_Mom…_

_Dad…_

_Max…_

_Rachel…_

  
  


_It's hella fucking worth it._


End file.
